


landfill

by veganconnor



Category: Dear Evan Hansen - Pasek & Paul/Levenson
Genre: Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Connor Deserves Happiness, Dissociation, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Everyone Is Gay, Gay Connor Murphy (Dear Evan Hansen), Hurt/Comfort, Insomnia, M/M, Recreational Drug Use, and evan takes care of him, basically connor gets super far in his own head, bipolar connor murphy, connor smokes weed what else is new, me projecting onto connor murphy? never, that's literally it - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-20
Updated: 2018-08-20
Packaged: 2019-06-30 05:19:14
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,437
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15745077
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/veganconnor/pseuds/veganconnor
Summary: some days connor can’t talk.some days evan wonders if he did something wrong and he looks into connor’s eyes, and sees that connor’s not even really there. the people walking by, the advertisements they pass, connor doesn’t see any of it.connor feels like he’s miles away from the rest of the world, like the colors and lights are pressing in around him like a blanket, but the tangible details of the interactions of the people around him are miles away. he knows they’re happening but he could no more reply or engage than he could if characters in a movie tried to speak to him.





	landfill

**Author's Note:**

> tree bros oneshot! wrote this months ago, thought i'd post it on here. enjoy <3

some days connor can’t talk.  
some days evan wonders if he did something wrong and he looks into connor’s eyes and sees that connor’s not even really there. the people walking by, the advertisements they pass, connor doesn’t see any of it.  
connor feels like he’s miles away from the rest of the world, like the colors and lights are pressing in around him like a blanket but the tangible details of the interactions of the people around him are miles away. he knows they’re happening but he could no more reply or engage than he could if characters in a movie tried to speak to him.  
he can hear sound but he can’t make out the specific noises, couldn’t be bothered to tell you what they mean. it feels like he’s in a hole, far away, watching everything but unable to react. he feels like he’s underwater, sinking, with the pressure of the world building and building on all sides and even if he were to scream the sounds would dissolve before they even left his mouth, swallowed up by the mere existence of the water even before the sound waves ever touch it. he focuses, hard, to do what he needs to do.  
he stares at his feet as he forces them to walk, shoves his hand into his pocket for his keys and squeezes each key in his fist tightly until he finds the one with more grooves than the others, the key to his apartment.  
he can hear evan making noise. he knows the noise is probably words. he closes his eyes to the fluorescence of the hall lighting and lets his instincts lead him to the right door. the fog is thick and heavy and pervasive. he is not afraid. he cannot feel enough to even approach the power of fear. he is nothing. he feels nothing. he’s so far away from the construct of human emotion, from the idea of words and thoughts and feelings and other people. other people. something happens, he thinks it might be touch. he thinks evan is touching him. a hand on his shoulder. more noise, or rather words, he corrects himself, are coming from evan. connor feels the tiniest twinge of guilt, a fleeting ghost of regret. it slips away before he can think about it any more. it takes him ages to think about anything.  
there are layers to his reality: the lights and the color and the pressure, then miles and miles of nothing, or of fog, or of water, then the realm of sound. then the realm of words and emotions and other people. he can only barely access any of it. his instincts compel him, his legs remembering how to walk when his brain can hardly remember where he is. they’re in his room and the window is open and it’s cold and he’s cold. more noise, from evan. he knows he needs to make noise, in response. he knows he needs to hear what evan is saying, hear the words and decipher their meaning and construct a reply, but he can’t.  
all he knows is what his brain remembers. his brain remembers that evan is always worried he’s making it worse, whenever connor gets weird or bad or upset. his brain remembers that evan will help him. he fumbles for his phone, his brain unlocking the screen and pulling up his texts to evan.

to: evan 11:48  
“texting is easier than talking”

to: evan 11:48  
“i’m really far in my head. i’m okay enough”

to: evan 11:49  
“i don’t know what enough means”

he locks his phone and closes his eyes, standing in his room, next to his bed, taking up space. he’s taking up space. he’s not moving and he’s standing up and he’s cold. his brain looks down at his phone.

from: evan 11:51  
“you don’t have to talk. is there anything i can do to help? i can’t tell if i’m making this better or worse”

he reads it three times. it’s as if the words are coming to him one at a time from across the country and he has to wait for each one and when it finally arrives, it takes ages to finally unwrap it and see what it means. by the time he’s unwrapped the last words he barely remembers the first ones.

to: evan 11:55  
“i’m cold”

he types, and he sends it. he’s still standing. he shouldn’t be standing but he doesn’t know if he should sit or lie down. he doesn’t know how to do those things. and he doesn’t know where he would do those things either. the cold is getting pushed farther away and he looks down to see that his brain told his arms to move into the sleeves of the sweater that evan is helping him into. he hears noise and this time he unwraps the noise, pushing through to the words.  
“you should lie down”  
evan’s face. he knows that evan’s face is there, and so is the rest of evan. and evan is seeing him and he’s not talking and he’s standing even though he shouldn’t be. and evan wants him to lie down. so that means the bed is where he should go. he turns his face down, not wanting his face to be where evan’s face can see it. he manages to get his brain to move his limbs and he crouches down, crawling onto the bed, letting his legs stretch out, letting his head fall. he rolls onto his side.

to: evan 11:57  
“if i don’t look at you it’s because i’m embarrassed you’re seeing me like this, not cause you make it worse”

he can’t remember when he last slept. he feels something on his neck and he bats it away, a bug, or maybe a weed that grew out of his skin. he feels another on his shoulder. he needs sleep. he won’t sleep. he needs to sleep or else the weeds will keep growing and the bugs will keep coming and landing on him and crawling and evan will look at him like he can’t see the bugs or the weeds.

to: evan 12:01  
“it’s on the shelf. bottom shelf. in the black”

he texts. he closes his eyes but hears noises. the noises are probably evan going to the bottom shelf and opening the black box and seeing his pipe and his grinder and the little container with the weed. his brain tells him not to worry. his brain shows him a clip of him teaching evan how to pack a bowl months ago. his brain uses this as evidence, like a detective showing his colleague something, assuring him that evan will know what to do. his eyes are closed. evan takes his hand, helping him towards the open window. he begins to crawl up to sit on the sill and something stops him. his shirt stops him, or rather, evan tugging on his shirt from behind. he stops obediently and evan climbs onto the sill himself, placing his body in between connor and the ground outside. connor knows he can’t get to the ground now, not with evan between him. the ground is far away and he feels it calling to him and he wants to climb out the window to see it but evan is between them.  
he can’t jump.  
he takes the pipe and the lighter and his brain knows what to do. he blows the first hit out into the cool air. he doesn’t want to smoke but he needs the bugs and the weeds to go away and he knows that only sleep will make them go away. and he knows he won’t sleep unless he smokes. and evan knows he won’t sleep unless he smokes. so evan packed him a bowl.  
evan, who’s sitting on the window sill while connor stands obediently on the ground beside him, evan, whose legs are stretched out across the sill, whose fingers are hooked into connors belt loop as though he’s trying to keep him from floating away.  
connor wishes evan could keep him from floating away.  
he smokes the rest of the bowl and stands there stupidly holding the pipe until evan takes it from his hand and starts putting it away. he stands there, finally remembering he’s supposed to lie down. he makes his way back to the bed and waits for evan to join him.  
evan wraps himself around connor from behind and connor starts to feel real again as he drifts off to sleep.

**Author's Note:**

> find me on tumblr my user is the same as on here :) kudos/comments much appreciated!


End file.
